


word in the game

by praqmatist



Series: delusions of grandeur [2]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Brief Dolley Madison/James Madison, F/F, Gen, Journalism, Politics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-03
Updated: 2016-09-03
Packaged: 2018-08-12 20:47:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7948477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/praqmatist/pseuds/praqmatist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ms. Schuyler,</p>
<p>As you know, politicians can select new outlets of their choice to give an interview and rundown of their policies to if they so desire. Mr. Jefferson has reached out to me saying he’d like to do so with The New York Times. Normally we don’t take requests as to the specifications of this interview, but, seeing as Mr. Jefferson is a presidential candidate, we’ve decided it would be okay to bend the rules a bit. He’s requested you as his interviewer and, of course, we said that we were more than happy to oblige.</p>
            </blockquote>





	word in the game

**MONDAY**

Angelica Schuyler loves almost everything about being a journalist. She loves interviewing people, she loves the live commentary, she loves writing articles and doing research.

 

The only thing she doesn’t like? Every single piece of content that she covers. Her political science major gave her an edge, sure, but the Times loves to put her to work analyzing polls and making sure they're considered the most reliable in the business. She's constantly being shipped out to the White House with nothing but her (coach) tickets covered by the newspaper and being crammed in a press room listening to yet another politician lie for forty-five minutes straight and get thunderous applause around the nation. She wanted to talk to people, to help people, not draft ways to make sure the Times remained viewed as an unbiased source while almost every single person on staff was as liberal as they come, while the polar opposite could be said for the executives.

She's especially reluctant to cover this area of the news during this election cycle --- Thomas Jefferson and John Adams. She'd be perfectly satisfied with the amount of unhappiness she felt listening to the standard issue variations of the same election tactics, but on top of that, Jefferson and Adams seemed to have nothing better to do with their campaign staff than instruct them to tell journalists blatant lies about the other candidate. She looks through her notes on what she's been told sometimes when she needs a good laugh or feels her faith in humanity naively strengthening.

And so she's here, in the press section of a rally in New York, elbows tucked into her sides, legs crossed and pretending to be eagerly awaiting a speech by the man of the hour,  Jefferson himself. Angelica respects the man's intelligence; she only wishes he'd put it to good use. After about thirty of what she'd consider the longest, sweatiest minutes of her life (though she thinks that every time she's in a situation similar to this) Thomas Jefferson emerges from a set of stairs Angelica didn’t know existed at the back of the stage, waving a hand in acknowledgment of the crowd. A large cheer swells in unison with an upbeat pop anthem that, from now on, will be associated with this campaign and only this campaign. Jefferson walks to the front of the stage where a podium awaits him, a series of images of him and work he's done appearing on a large screen behind him. Angelica shakes her head and writes down two words worth of notes: _flashy entrance._

As she does this, her phone rings. She knows she can't answer it right now, not with journalists writing quick notes next to her and music blaring from speakers right behind her. About thirty seconds after her phone rings out, she receives a text from her sister Eliza. Once glance at the message and she can tell it's a long-winded emotional message about something Alexander did- she's received many of those over the past couple of weeks. She returns her attention to the stage where Jefferson stands, the pop music fading out and the cheers going with it. Jefferson scans the audience, looking from side to side, before beginning.

"My fellow Americans-" and Angelica stops listening. She pulls out her phone and decides to actually read through Eliza's message this time, instead of skimming it and giving a generic relationship advice reply. Eliza tells her about how Alexander's been very openly cheating on her, but she thinks it's fine because he's open about it, she feels like it'd be irresponsible and rash to leave him but it's emotionally draining to her and she doesn't know what to do. Angelica knows she's already had too many conversations with Eliza about _maybe having an actual healthy discussion about the concept of polyamory_ and decides to put down her phone, cutting off the bullshit from one area of her life and filling that void with the walking talking bullshit generator that stands on a stage in front of her.

Thomas Jefferson's skipped through his generic intro to a part of his speech that, if executed properly, could set _this_ speech apart from every other speech given at every other rally by _every other presidential candidate,_ so she decides to give him a shot and listen.

"I understand that, in a time of true crisis in a nation, it can be easy for someone to target the fear that rests in the hearts of the American people. But I believe, I know, that the citizens of these United States are better than falling victim to such an approach." Angelica smirks and writes in cursive in her notebook: _The irony of a man opposed to refugees speaking about falling victim to fear_ . It's not a sentence, nor is it anything more than a note for herself (again, unbiased source). Her phone buzzes once more, and she sighs before picking it up to a message from Alexander. _I'm assuming my wife messaged you. Thoughts on romance from the road?_ It’s endearing in an asshole sort of way, and she resolves to let them work through their issues on their own- she really should be focusing on this speech.

"On taking this station on a former occasion, I declared the principles on which I believed it my duty to administer the affairs of our commonwealth. My conscience tells me that I have, on every occasion, acted up to that declaration, according to its obvious import, and to the understanding of every candid mind." Angelica makes a _not bad_ expression and writes a few notes down. Slowly but surely she falls into the rhythms of this, the motions she's gone through so many times, and the time starts to go a little bit faster.

Forty-three scattered applause and earnest note taking-filled minutes later, Angelica is allowed to leave the rally and make her way back to the hotel. She plops down onto the bed, pulls her laptop out of her bag, and opens up her notes. While her laptop is booting up, she calls Maria.

"Hello?"

"Hey, it's me, you got CSS for a speech write-up on hand?"

Knowing Maria, Angelica assumes she’s half-awake on their shared bed in sweatpants, but of course she’s got everything ready.

"Mhm," she hums as affirmation. "Send me everything when it's ready, I can have it up five minutes after that. 'K bye!"

"Hang on a second," Angelica says, drawing out the 'a' in 'hang'. "Eliza texted me." She hears Maria let out a long sigh on the other end of the phone, a mix of exasperation and  very obviously wanting to avoid this subject.

"We didn't even... do that much, okay? I just thought that since Alex is always, like, out with Aaron and John and everything that their relationship was kinda like ours, one of those, um-"

"Open relationships," Angelica supplies.

"Yeah, that. Angie, you know I'd never screw up a relationship on purpose like that, if I had known she was doing it out of anger I never would've, not in a million years."

Angelica nods along with what she's saying, logging into her computer as she does so. She listens to Maria talk as she types the notes from the speech into a full-fledged write up, placing her phone next to her and on speaker.

"And it's not like I didn't like her or anything, because I did, but I didn't... you know? I don't know why you would know, since I don't even know, which is weird because I do know what I mean but I don’t _know_ -"

"Maria," Angelica cuts her off. "Maria, I love and care about you but could you maybe..."

"Oh, yeah, sure. I'm gonna work on some formatting for the app if you need me."

"Bye," Angelica says through breathy laughter.

"Peace."

Angelica hangs up and turns her full attention to writing up her notes on the speech. She leaves out heavily opinionated notes (the one she, notably, takes in cursive) and leaves in the objective notes on the content and quality of Jefferson's speech. Half an hour or so later, she has the article typed up and sends the document to Maria.

_Hey,_ Maria says in an email back, _let's do that thing where I don't tell you when I'm gonna put it up so that you keep refreshing the website until you see your article._

_Let's not,_ Angelica replies. Maria responds by sending her a link to the article. Angelica is, as always, satisfied with the formatting (Maria doesn't do what she does for a living for nothing) so she sits back on her bed and flips on the news, embracing her inner irony in a way. She sees replays of Jefferson's speech interlaced with commentary from an anchor. Every time they cut to the large outdoor stage, she (childishly) thinks to herself _hey! I was there! I saw that!_

She hears her phone buzz next to her and she picks it up, not taking her eyes away from the screen. When she can finally tear her gaze away, she looks down to see an email from her director. She clicks the notification and the email lights up her screen.

_Ms. Schuyler_ , the email begins. _As you know, politicians can select new outlets of their choice to give an interview and rundown of their policies to if they so desire. Mr. Jefferson has reached out to me saying he’d like to do so with The New York Times._

 

Angelica nods as she reads, muting the TV as she does so.

 

_Normally we don’t take requests as to the specifications of this interview, but, seeing as Mr. Jefferson is a presidential candidate, we’ve decided it would be okay to bend the rules a bit._

 

Angelica rolls her eyes. Of course.

_He’s requested you as his interviewer and---_

Angelica shuts her laptop, probably harsher than is good for its condition. Her eyes go wide and she mouths ‘what?’ to herself in disbelief. She opens her laptop slowly, clicking out of the email before reading further and going to her inbox, which displays a (1). It’s from Maria. Angelica lets out a slow breath before returning to the email from her director. She skims through it to find her place again.

_He’s requested you as his interviewer and, of course, we said that we were more than happy to oblige. I apologize if this is not something you desire, but there’s little we can do at this point. I’ve provided a document attached to this email with the specificities of when and where this interview will take place._

 

Angelica opens and reads the document calmly, pretending that these events are normal, that this is another interview with a member of the community who happens to have witnessed something extraordinary. This is no different than every other interview Angelica’s ever done, right? Right.

Angelica replies quickly, with enough words to agree to the time and date but not enough to give away her emotions. She presses send and then quickly forwards the first email to Maria. A few seconds later, a chat with Maria pops up in the corner of her screen.

**_Maria R._ **

_what the hell_

**_Angelica Schuyler_ **

_I know, right?_

**_Maria R._ **

_no I mean did you take it_

**_Angelica Schuyler_ **

_Yes, I took it._

**_Maria R._ **

_good_

**_Angelica Schuyler_ **

_Good?? Not “I’m sorry you have to be in a room with this man for an extended period of time and actually listen to him?”_

**_Maria R._ **

_you ty_

_type really fast_

**_Angelica Schuyler_ **

_In the email they made it seem like he was really persistent about requesting me._

**_Maria R._ **

_maybe he’s into you?_

_or maybe he just thinks you’re smart. Or both_

_he might be a sapiosexual_

_write that in your interview questions_

Angelica sighs --- a combination of love for Maria and frustration --- and rubs her hands over her face. She stares at the ceiling for a few seconds before replying.

**_Angelica Schuyler_ **

_Thanks for putting the article up._

She closes the chat window and looks at her inbox to see yet another (1) waiting for her. She clicks on it and sees a confirmation email from her director.

So yeah, she’s really doing this.

**TUESDAY**

Angelica’s expectations for the flight back to New York are mediocre at best. She wakes up late, after an email chain with Maria that went long into the night, does her hair in a rush, forgets her headphones in her room, arrives at the gate right before the doors close, and ends up sandwiched between a frazzled mother flying by herself with a small toddler on her lap and a large, muscular man who does nothing but stare straight ahead for almost the entire flight.

When the man gets up to go to the bathroom, the mom sleeping next to her is jolted awake by the sound of her toddler crying. She instinctively begins to hush it, whispering _shh, shh, shh,_ frantically. She looks up at Angelica, apologetic, as she jerks her leg in an attempt to rock her child to sleep. Angelica smiles sympathetically and shakes her head- she’s fine with it. The woman lets out a relieved huff of breath and returns her attention to her child. After a minute or so, the child falls back asleep, and the woman sits back, exhausted.

“I’m sorry about that,” she says after a second.

“No problem, I have four younger siblings, I know how it can be,” Angelica replies. She hesitates, unsure, before extending her hand to the woman. “Angie.”

The woman takes a second to wiggle her hand out from behind her toddler’s back to shake her hand. “Dolley. And this,” she says, gesturing to the now-sleeping child on her lap, “is John.” Angelica tilts her head and smiles at him. She hears steps approaching their seat and she turns toward them, meeting eyes with the man who was sitting next to them a few minutes ago. He takes his seat heavily, disturbing John, who begins to cry again.

The man turns his head in the direction of Dolley and John in a way that someone more poetic than Angelica would describe as ominous. Angelica turns towards the two of them and sees Dolley open her mouth around an apology before stopping abruptly. John stops crying, too, and tilts his head in curiosity. Angelica turns back to the man and sees him making a comical face in an obvious attempt to entertain John. Angelica smiles to herself, and hears John let out a giggle. The man continues making faces and lets out the occasional “Ah!”

“That’s right, don’t cry,” he says, after John’s mood has significantly improved. Dolley gives the man a look of gratitude. He smiles at her- “James,” he says.

“Dolley,” she replies. They smile at each other across Angelica, and she mentally rolls her eyes. The rest of the flight goes better than Angelica had hoped, which would fill her with some sort of calm feeling if she didn’t know who she was flying back to New York to meet.

When the plane lands, she patiently waits for James to get up and grab his stuff so that she doesn’t run over his calm, grounded pace with the rushed flash of her stiletto heels and pantsuit. She grabs her bag and exits the plane, getting hit with the signature LaGuardia smell of harsh air conditioning and too-old-to-be-legally-sold-anywhere-else sandwiches. She passes through the New York public transportation system in a whirl and ends up collapsing back onto her and Maria’s couch in their apartment at 6 o’clock at night after prepping interview questions while Maria stares at her from an armchair.

“Excited for the interview, huh? Man, I bet that guy could irritate you in just four words or less,” Maria says once a heavy silence falls between them.

“Four words or fewer,” Angelica says, choosing to ignore the irony of that statement and staring up at the ceiling, on her back on their couch.

“Could give a shit about grammar.”

“Couldn’t. Couldn’t give a shit, Maria.” Angelica says, and she’s actually growing irritated now.

“Come on, is it really that bad? You never get this nitpicky about my- my- speaking, I think that’s how… unless you’re stressed.” Angelica looks over at Maria, at her expression. She’s struck the wrong chord, she realizes, as she remembers Maria never did receive an education. She taught herself how to code when she dropped out of high school because her dad wasn’t smart enough to control what she did on her computer, but her grammar has never been up to par.

“I’m sorry, you don’t deserve me doing that, I just…” Angelica turns back to the ceiling, tracing a path through the dips in the eggplant texture with her eyes. “If he wasn’t a politician, I’d spend every moment possible _away_ from him. Let’s go down the list of shit he hates,” she says, holding up a hand to count on her fingers. “Gay marriage- me, you, Alex, John, and so on and so forth. Refugees- Cosway. Immigrants- Alex. Affordable college- fuck, you’re a genius, do you know what you could’ve done if you could’ve afforded school? What else-”

“Angie,” Maria cuts her off calmly, “Listen to me. You’re gon’ be fine. Okay? Just don’t punch him and you’ll be fine,” she says matter-of-factly. Angelica laughs dryly to herself before rubbing a hand down the side of her face again.

“Okay.”

Maria smiles at Angelica, even though she knows she can’t see her. She gets up from her chair, walks over to the couch, lifts Angelica’s feet, and plops down with her feet on her lap.

“What’re you _doing_?” Angelica asks, but affection and laughter lace her tone.

“I’m being your foot pillow,” Maria says solemnly. It takes them less than ten seconds to burst into uncontrollable laughter, more than they even should be for the situation, but neither seems to care.  A tear runs down the side of Angelica’s face, which Maria notices and begins laughing harder. Angelica doubles over in her position, sitting up, so she’s curled up against the arm of the couch with her knees drawn in and feet resting on the other side of Maria. Their laughter dies down and they’re just looking at each other now.

Angelica leans back on her elbows on the arm of the couch, cocky, and Maria shifts Angelica’s legs from off of her. She gets up on her knees on the couch and shuffles up to Angelica’s chest. They’re silent for a moment, Angelica anticipative and Maria contemplative. Maria chooses to break the silence.

“Good thing Jefferson isn’t here right now.”

Angelica throws her head back and laughs, loud and bright. “Shut up,” she says, pulling Maria in by the back of the head for a kiss.

 

**WEDNESDAY**

“Here he is! Here _you_ are. Here y'all are,"  Maria rambles giddily in the passenger’s seat of Angelica’s car. Angelica, in all her bobby-pinned pantsuit-ed glory, is driving herself and skirt-clad Maria to the Times office, where a fully prepped interview room awaits them. Well, awaits Angelica; Maria’s only there for tech assistance. _She should be glad,_ Angelica thinks.

Maria’s still going on excitedly when she and Angelica enter the modern, marble, clean-cut building. “Okay, you have to ask him about his stance on immigration. I know you know that, but like, tell him to simplify it. Make it real plain, that even I could get it, so the smart people could see through his bullshit. I can, because I’m kinda smart, but…”

“Maria,” Angelica says, turning to her. “I’m good, okay? It’s just a normal interview. I’m just curious as to why he requested me specifically, that’s all.”

There’s a beat of silence between them before Maria hums. “Are you tellin’ me that? Cause I feel like you’re tellin’ yourself.”

Angelica rolls her eyes. She drags Maria to the elevator --- floor four for Maria and her IT crew, floor seven for Angelica’s interview room. They ride in silence. When the elevator reaches Maria’s floor with a sharp _ding,_ Maria turns to Angelica with a sincere smile.

“Good luck,” she says, placing a kiss on Angelica’s forehead. Angelica smiles back and mouths _I love you_ as the door open and Maria exits. Maria smiles at her before turning and entering work mode. Angelica’s still smiling as the doors close and the elevator takes her to her floor. She exits once she reaches it, gets to her room quickly, and sits down.

The clock reads 8:45, and Jefferson is to arrive at nine. Angelica has time to pace the room, collect herself for a few minutes. She walks a few circles around the room, practicing her interview questions, and looks up at the clock again after what she’s sure has been forever. The clock reads 8:49. She groans out loud and plops down in her chair, taking out her phone. She checks her messages and finds one from Eliza- she and Alex made up and had that healthy conversation. _Wonder where you’ve heard that before?_ Angelica replies sarcastically. She sits for a few minutes awaiting a reply when the door creaks open. Her heart jumps in her chest and she snaps her head up to look at the door, but relaxes when she sees a soft yellow outfit round the corner.

“Angie!” Peggy exclaims. “Okay, good, you’re in here. Thomas is downstairs and he’s doing this- this, um…” she gestures across her whole body. “This prepping ritual. Like in High School Musical, just… presidential? I don’t know,” she says, shaking her head violently. “Anyways, he’s coming up soon, thought you’d wanna know.”

“Thanks, Peggy,” Angelica says with a slight smile. Peggy grins, nods, and ducks out of the room. Angelica ignores the shake in her hands that’s started and sits up straighter in her chair. A few minutes later, two tall men dressed in black enter and sit in a corner of the room.

“Hello,” Angelica says. “I’m--”

“Angelica Schuyler,” one of them cuts her off. “We know.”

“Be kind to her,” a voice says from the direction of the door. Angelica whips her head around and sees Thomas Jefferson. Her gut twists a little --- and not in a romantic way --- as he comes and takes a seat in the chair in front of her.

“Do we begin straight away, or is there an uncontrolled factor this relies on?”

“We,” Angelica begins, breath catching in her throat. She’s not going to let his demeanor trip her up. “My technological assistant should be arriving soon.”

“Ah,” Jefferson says, leaning back a little. “And does he-”

“She,” Angelica interjects.

“Does she,” Jefferson says calmly, pretending he wasn’t interrupted and raising an eyebrow, “know what time she’s supposed to be here?”

“Yes, she does, the tech floor can get busy now and then with keeping the polls as updated as possible.”

“Ah, the polls, right,” Jefferson says airily. Every time he speaks it’s as if he’s sighing, like he couldn’t be bothered with whatever’s happening at the moment. His breath doesn’t smell particularly bad, but the wash of it over Angelica feels slightly predatory and it makes her move uncomfortably in her seat.

“I was told that you requested me, specifically,” Angelica says after a moment, wishing Maria would hurry the hell up.

“You were made aware?”

“That’s how these things tend to happen,” Angelica shoots back, annoyance threatening to make itself obvious on her faceannoyed.

“I’ve read your work.”

“Which works?”

 

“I’ve read your work,” Jefferson repeats.

 

The tone they use with each other is becoming increasingly cutting, and Angelica tells herself she can handle this. Just as she’s about to open her mouth to ask for more specifics, Maria stumbles into the room with her laptop in her hands. She glances between Jefferson and Angelica, and senses that this is a situation she doesn’t want to disrupt.

“Maria Reynolds,” she says quickly, holding out a hand to Jefferson. He shakes it lazily and she grabs her hand back, rushing to a corner of the room where there’s a camera, mic, and tripod. She sets the equipment up hurriedly and presses record --- she’ll edit the excess footage later.

“We good to begin?” Angelica asks. Jefferson nods cockily.

_Asshole,_ Angelica thinks. “Then let’s get going,” she says. “For starters, thank you for joining us.”

“No problem, no problem,” Jefferson says, sliding down in his chair a little bit.

“Right,” Angelica says. “So… I’m sure you’re aware that at 36, you’re the youngest person to ever run for president. Any… ethics, morals, anything that you can attribute your success to?”

“I tend to get things done quickly,” Jefferson says, looking at Angelica with a cocky expression as he says so. A shiver runs down her spine and she flits her eyes to Maria’s corner of the room. Maria gives her a reassuring smile and Angelica redirects her attention to Jefferson.

“And I’m sure you also know that your policies on immigration and refugees are somewhat controversial.”

Jefferson sighs, shaking his head. “I’m going by numbers. Speaking political truth. If people make the choice not to believe it, well....”

“The truth being?”

 

Jefferson cocks an eyebrow. “This country doesn’t need anything other than its own problems on its hands.”

“And human rights aren’t American issues?”

“I’m protecting the freedom of the American people.”

“By limiting that of others?”

“They can go anywhere else in the world.”

“Are you saying this isn’t the greatest country in the world for people to come to in a time of need?”

Jefferson scoffs and sits up all the way. “Mrs.-”

“Ms.”

“Ms. Schuyler, this is an interview, not an open attack of my policies.”

“Mr. Jefferson, if you’ve read my work, you should know that I just like to get as much information as possible.”

Jefferson sits back in his chair again, annoyed. “Then continue.”

 

**\---**

 

“Absolutely not.”

“Ms. Schuyler,” Jefferson says, pretending to be beside himself, “I’ve only asked you out to dinner as a conclusion to this interview, not proposed anything warranting that reaction.”

“With all due respect Mr. Secretary, this is not a massage. There’s no happy ending, this was an interview and nothing more,” Angelica says, packing her stuff into her bag. As she turns to leave, Jefferson lays a hand on her shoulder.

“I find your intelligence and grit things that could be very helpful in the organization of a campaign.”

“Sir,” Angelica says in a warning tone.

“Angelica, come on, Mr. Secretary will be shown out by your sister, we can just go,” Maria says, desperately trying to prevent the situation from building.

“Sir,” Angelica repeats, “seeing as this interview is over, it’s now appropriate for me to say that I would rather burn this country to the ground myself than see you in the Oval Office, and I would absolutely not enjoy sitting down to a meal with you.” Maria grabs her hand and pulls her towards the door, Jefferson’s bodyguards standing up in the corner.

“We’ll be going sir,” Maria says, tugging at Angelica’s hand. Angelica turns and follows her, but not before Jefferson can get a word in edgewise.

“I’d be careful, Ms. Schuyler. Just because you’re a member of the press doesn’t mean I can’t turn it against you.”

As the door clicks shut behind Maria and Angelica, she tries to shut out the images of the possible headlines running through her mind, unconsciously pulling her skirt down to a longer-looking length and swiping a little bit of lipstick off of her lips, pretending it doesn’t affect her.

Pretending she doesn’t care.

 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you dia for beta reading this <3
> 
> this takes place along the same timeline as alexander and eliza's portion of the series
> 
> comments and kudos appreciated!


End file.
